Ugly Shadows
by Celeste K. Raven
Summary: There were a few little scares in the early days, like the bruises on Dipper's stomach. They were dark like a nasty piece of foreshowing and red like flags. One-shot.


**This story contains some spoilers for Scary-oke. You have been warned! **

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><p>Dipper gagged like he was going to throw up, but the pain of clenching his stomach muscles would've been too violent to handle. He forced his throat to relax… push the bile down… open wide so he could breathe more humid air.<p>

The twelve-year-old was lurching through one of those parts of the forest where everything shimmered in his face. Mushrooms grew without shade and dew drops twinkled even though it was early evening. Dipper kept his head bent toward the white stripe on his shoes: _down_. He trusted his feet to find their way back to the Mystery Shack; trying to focus on anything through the aggressive mist would've only added _dizzy_ to _nauseous_ _and burning and bruised. _

Dipper tripped on bricks that led up to the gift shop. The extra jolt was upsetting enough to send vomit spilling into his mouth, but he didn't notice very much because his stomach's reaction was worse. It ached in an angry, pounding sort of way.

_Toughen up,_ he thought, frustrated with himself. _I'll probably get home and see that I'm not even that hurt. _

Dipper wanted to check his injuries in private first, just in case Mabel freaked out and wouldn't let him explain. Plus, he was pretty sure she was having a sleepover tonight.

The automatic lights didn't go on when Dipper stepped into the gift shop. _Not surprising._ They'd broken two days after the twins arrived and every effort on Soos's part to fix them had failed. Grunkle Stan was too cheap to buy a whole new system. The only light that Dipper had to find the door leaked in through the windows. It was the sort of situation that a murderer would've taken advantage of. Dipper hurried past the 'Employees Only' sign, head still low.

**- - GF - -**

''All I know is that I didn't have to pay for it,'' Stan was saying around a mouthful of pie.

''You know, Mr. Pines,'' Soos replied in a sage tone, ''this pie could be filled with love berries.''

Grunkle Stan leaned closer to the stone wall behind him, his eyes distrusting. ''What are ya talkin' about, Soos?''

''The fruit that holds the power of _love,_'' Soos whispered with awe. ''What did you think love potions were made of?''

''It's late, Soos. Go home.''

''Sure thing Mr. Pines- Hey, Dips, what's up?''

Dipper stood in the doorway, trying not to attracted attention by stepping into the light or throwing up. He'd been taking deep breaths that made his skin scream but seemed to help the nausea a lot.

''Ugh, I don't feel very good. I think I need to lie down,'' he said, inching past the dining table in the direction of the living room.

''Your sister's got her friends upstairs,'' said Grunkle Stan.

Dipper nodded without making eye contact. ''I'm gonna go to the bathroom right now.''

''Feel better, little man,'' Soos said on his way out the door. Dipper flinched when it slammed shut.

''Lazy Susan dropped off a pie.'' Grunkle Stan lifted the tin he was eating directly out of, wafting the scent of cherries toward his great-nephew. ''You can have some if you don't go taking it where the girls can see.''

''You want us to finish it by ourselves?''

''There's an entire pack of preteens crashing around up there. I'm only obligated to feed the two of you.''

Dipper didn't want any pie. He wanted a porcelain hole to throw up in.

''Kid, you look awful,'' Grunkle Stan said, leaning toward Dipper.

''Yeah, I'm sick,'' Dipper grumbled.

His uncle stared at him for a long time, tracing Dipper's facial features with his dark pupils. The twelve-year-old felt extremely uncomfortable under his great-uncle's gaze; the old man didn't usually make eye contact with Dipper, even when they were speaking to each other. Finally, Stan touched Soos's chair with the side of his foot, pushing it away from the table—clearly so Dipper could sit. Dipper parted his lips to tell Stan that he _really needed to use the bathroom right now_, but the man's dark expression stopped him.

Well, that was just great. Dipper sat down.

''Tell me what happened,'' Stan ordered, moving the pie tin so that the wonderful dessert wouldn't have to be involved in a bad-news moment.

''Nothing happened,'' Dipper lied, completely aware that that wasn't going to be the end of it. He just felt like it was what he was supposed to say.

''Yeah? Then why are you hunched over like an old widow? And why are you so darn pale?'' Stan's voice demanded, intruding Dipper's ears.

''Nothing very important happened,'' Dipper corrected himself. He struggled not to sound exhausted. ''I… was trying to get Mabel a present.''

The kid made an uncomfortable face. Something was digging into his chest: the hard corner of journal #3. Dipper shifted as little as possible when he pulled it out of his vest. He was finding that—if he didn't move too much—sitting down helped his stomach relax.

Grunkle Stan's eyes got dark when they settled on the journal, but he didn't say anything. Dipper was going to have to spill the whole story.

''In the journal there's a page about the Woolf, a wolf that has wool like a sheep. It said that the Woolf's wool could be turned into the best quality string magic can offer.''

He had no clue what good quality string even looked like; he'd only been thinking about how Mabel would be a better judge.

''I brought the Woolf an offering and then waited until the sun started to go down-''

''What offering?'' Stan barked suddenly.

Dipper paled a little bit. ''Twenty bucks, a Twinkie… this dead rabbit I found in the road… the book didn't really specify…''

''Yeah,'' his grunkle said, calming down a bit. His eyebrows swooped low again when he met Dipper's gaze. ''What then?''

''Well, he eventually came out of his cave home and started sniffing around the bunny. I asked it if he would give me some wool.''

_The Woolf had a horrible, untamed aura. Dipper's cold nostrils could smell the beast's reeking hair even though they were separated by twenty feet (give or take a foot). Before the Woolf had shown up he had been picturing a fluffy cloud sheep and wondering if it could speak. Now he didn't want to find out. _

_''__Excuse me… Mr. Woolf… Sir?'' The last word wasn't spoken so much as squeaked. ''Will you give me any wool for that rabbit?''_

''I asked him if he would give me some wool,'' Dipper repeated. He paused for a second while the pounding in his stomach spiked. ''I- ooh, oh geeze.''

''What's wrong?!''

''Don't shout- Mabel…'' Dipper hissed. He didn't want his sister (or her pack of girlie friends) to thunder down the stairs and surround him. They would love a chance to play doctor on him.

''Then tell me what happened _right now_. What mess you up so bad?''

_Dipper was lying on his back screaming, dry heaving. It was the ugliest sound he'd ever made. For some reason he didn't feel like the Woolf has been responsible for pushing him down. _

''Some- _force_ pushed me down. I was watching the Woolf smell the dead rabbit and then something smashed against my stomach.''

''Did you feel wind?''

''It definitely wasn't wind, just… like I said, a force.''

_He stayed on the ground for a long time while shallow streams glistened on his face. He was terrified to see what his stomach looked like. Part of his chest kind of hurt too, but nowhere near as bad. Blood glued his shirt to his back. Little rocks had jammed themselves into his skin like slivers of glass. _

_Let the Woolf come and eat me, he thought through a haze of anxiety. Until he knew that whatever had hurt him was gone, he wasn't going to get up. _

''Where did the Woolf go?''

''I don't know. I never saw him after that. I stayed on the ground until it started to get late, and then I knew I needed to get back to the Shack. I feel like something must have swooped in, pushed me down, and then sent the Woolf away. The journal didn't say that the Woolf has any magic.''

''Show me where you were pushed,'' Stan ordered with an unsettling blank face.

Dipper lifted his shirt up. His grunkle leaned forward to get a good look.

''Stand up,'' he muttered, completely calm. It was a dangerous calm. Dipper stood up quickly even though it hurt.

_Shag carpet feels weird when I have shoes on… _

He thought about his feet so he wouldn't have to feel his stomach. He had bruises from his high waste up to the tips of his ribs, but they were darkest right above his belly button. His blood was pushing at the thin wrapping of his skin; the red if it was bright where it met the dark purple parts.

Grunkle Stan's well-practiced aura of indifference cracked open—and it stayed cracked. He drank in Dipper's damaged skin. Every one of his nephew's broken veins left a piece of a vague lightning pattern that shocked a very large part of the child's body.

_''__I don't know what I'd do with myself if you got hurt on my watch.''_

Dipper knew that his uncle probably felt guilty, but it was only a vague knowledge at the thinnest layer of his thoughts. Mostly he just focused on his own embarrassment.

''I, uh, have some internal bleeding,'' Dipper commented sheepishly.

Grunkle Stan nodded stupidly.

''Does this mean I have to see a doctor?''

''I don't know, kid. This is ugly.''

Those words were fine.

The next ones were not.

''I'm keeping the journal.''

''What!?'' Dipper let his shirt slide down over his middle. Now that he was standing up again he felt dizzy. ''I need the journal. I'm not safe without it!''

''I'll decide what's best for your safety, kid. I told you only to use it for defense, but obviously you aren't going to listen to me. It's mine now.'' His grunkle's voice held a hundred warnings.

Dipper squinted a little bit, struggling with the pressure to tear up. He wasn't going to give Stan the pleasure of seeing him sniffle like a wimp. God, he was so tired of feeling like crap.

''You're going to keep me safe like you've been doing for the last six weeks? Or were you just not really trying when I got these bruises earlier today?''

''I trusted you to obey me!'' Stan thundered.

''I trusted you to protect me!'' Dipper snapped back.

He wasn't being honest: he had been trusting_ himself_ to be cautious when he left to find the Woolf, but what the hell. He couldn't really think straight…

Everything was sort of sideways…

Dipper's shoulders felt every one of Stan's fingers. Could his grunkle still feel the rocks stuck in his skin…?

''You need to sit down, Dipper. I think you almost passed out.'' Stan's horrible voice was very loud in Dipper's ear. There was no other sound in the house. Had Mabel and her friends been making noise earlier? Grenda definitely didn't know how to be this quiet.

''Just leave me alone. It's not like I'm gonna die.'' He sounded crazy and, yeah, wimpy.

''We'll talk about the journal later. For now, I want you to stay out of those woods. Do you understand?''

Out of the woods. Dipper knew he wasn't anywhere near _out of the woods_.

''You think the rest of this town is safer because it's not full of trees?'' His frazzled soul wanted to continue fighting. He was still in so much _pain. _

''Be quiet. You can sass me when I don't feel like I'm kicking a sad puppy.''

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><p><strong>I expected the end to be... fluffier. Obviously that did not happen.<strong>

**Write On! **


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